


what lies in the woods

by euphemea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crest Monster Sylvain, Glenn lives AU, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: The blades were heavy. Impossibly heavy. Felix fumbled as the numbness crept further into his fingers, and his swords clattered uselessly to the ground. He watched the wolf and it looked back, too cautious, too aware.Why was it staring?The ache of exhaustion settled over Felix’s shoulders, his vision swimming, and the earth careened toward him.He could swear he heard a whimper—no, a whisper. It almost sounded like: “Felix?”~~In a world where Fódlan's war happened differently, Felix goes hunting for a crest monster nicknamed the "Red Ghost".
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 143
Collections: Sylvix Remix 2020





	what lies in the woods

**Author's Note:**

> this is a remix of [this lovely art](https://twitter.com/vermilleons/status/1175924767817379841) by [@vermilleons](https://twitter.com/vermilleons)! thanks to [elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes), [cherry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryconke), and [ryx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scythe) for betaing.
> 
> to vermilleons, thank you for letting me play with your idea, and i hope you enjoy this fic!

Demonic beast sighting, a half day’s ride north of Fraldarius keep, strange behavior reported. The third such sighting this year, but the first from this township.

The “Red Ghost,” the rumors called it—a notoriously slippery Giant Wolf. Though, if what Felix has heard was true, “giant” wasn’t exactly an apt descriptor.

He’d ridden out at first light, bringing just enough water and smoked meat to last him through the day. He was Shield of Faerghus’s northern sword, the Savior King’s unerring rapier, Glenn Fraldarius’s most trusted knight—he had no need of unnecessary supplies or the burden of a battalion. Hunting this beast was a routine, inconsequential task. Besides, organizing his men would take longer than the trip itself.

It had been five years since Edelgard and Claude’s coup and the subsequent downfall of the Central Church. A tide of hope rose with that victory, but so too did the threat from beneath the earth. Imperiled by humanity, the Agarthans had revealed themselves and declared their own war, unleashing power that had been buried for centuries, and with it came a torrent of demonic beasts descending upon the land. 

Sightings of these monsters had become increasingly common, with a new report every day, and the disgusting power of Crest Stones shook the earth. It was the Agarthans’ futile last bid to hold back humanity, a distraction to throw off Adrestia and Leicester from their assault on Shamballa and its outposts. Their creatures were little more than nuisances to the trained, but they ran rampant among the common folk. Their rampage turned the continent’s roadways treacherous. 

Faerghus played a different role—it faced instead a war of attrition against demons rising from within its own borders. Dimitri and Glenn had only recently overcome the Titanuses unleashed by Cornelia and Arundel. The battle’s devastation had left Fhirdiad in shambles. Neither Felix nor Ingrid had been present for the fight, though Ingrid had hurried to the capital in the aftermath to aid in the city’s recovery. Felix had stayed behind to administer to Fraldarius in Glenn’s stead. 

The letters that his friends and brother sent were hopeful but terse. There was only so fast rebuilding could happen, only so quickly crops could grow, only so much medicine to be shared. Felix hadn’t seen any of them in months. 

His own time was occupied with ensuring that Fraldarius would not fail while Glenn aided in the restoration of their capital. This trip to seek out a demonic beast was business as usual. 

Felix rode for hours. Fraldarius’s dense firs and looming pines flashed past in a blur of earthen greens and ashen browns. The sun was near midday now. On either side, the trees fell away, yielding a quiet town tucked plaintively into the wilderness. 

Felix pulled taut his reins and slowed to a trot, eyes narrowed for signs of damage from the beast. The walls around the town were intact and there was no visible damage to any of the houses near the outskirts. Nothing stood out of place to indicate that the monster had been anything more than a collective nightmare.

Even the Red Ghost was reported to leave some sort of trail in its wake.

Felix let out an irritated huff, slinging his over leg over his saddle and dropping to the ground. It seemed likely he would be forced to comfort a few hysterical mothers before turning around and riding south. A wasted day. 

He strode to the first doorway and knocked heavily against its frame. Might as well get things over with.

A woman cracked open the door, two children clinging to her skirts, all six eyes round and fearful. “Who are you?”

“Felix Fraldarius. I received a message a few days ago about a demonic beast sighting near here.” Felix rolled his eyes. “The so-called ‘Red Ghost.’”

“O-oh, Master Fraldarius. T-thank you for coming,” said the woman, loosening her grip on the door. She fumbled a curtsy and, glancing at her children behind her, pushed their heads into bows. Felix repressed the urge to scoff at the needless deference. “There’s not a lot to tell. It’s eating the town’s sheep, sir. Every moon, after the new moon, like clockwork, two more go missing. Been like that for four moons now.”

“The monster… takes two sheep. And nothing else?” Felix repeated back, surprise leaking into his voice. The recountings of the beast’s oddities were certainly prevalent. If what the woman said was true, the truth was even stranger than the rumors. This beast’s self-control was far beyond what was typical.

The woman shook her head. “No, sir. The only reason we know it’s a beast and not the bandits is because Katarina and her son spotted it just last week. One of the wolf-beasts, they said, with dark red fur. Small, and it looked at them like it knew who they were. The Red Ghost.”

“I see. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“No, sir, but—. Please be safe on the roads. Bandits came through here four days ago, after our messenger left to Fraldarius.” Behind her, her daughter whimpered. “It’s dangerous times, Master Fraldarius. The kings and dukes—they threw away the Goddess, and left the rest of us with nothing.”

Claude and Edelgard had discarded only the Central Church’s head idol. Archbishop Rhea was not and had never been the Goddess; unlearning her role in their lives was something they all would have to do. It was high time humanity learned to handle its own culpability.

Felix gave the woman a curt nod. “Thank you. Have a good day.” 

Perhaps the trip wouldn’t be a complete loss. A mother and son sighting was little evidence to go on, but this woman had seemed certain in her assessment. It was worthy of investigation, if nothing else. The beast’s actions were stranger even than the fictitious-sounding reports, and its routine showed that it had some intelligence—it might yet prove to be a challenging and worthwhile target.

The woman closed the door quietly behind him, its thud muted in the hazy chill of early-fall Faerghus, and Felix walked back the way he’d come, whistling for his horse. 

—

The ride around the town to their pasture was brief, and the sheep scattered as Felix approached. 

Finding the beast’s trail proved a challenge, even dismounted. The intervening rain and the monster’s mysterious foresight hid any traces left in the yellowing grass and surrounding brambles. But Felix was no ordinary hunter, and while he had never met this prey, his eyesight was keen and he knew how an animal frightened might falter. 

A half-erased print and a single tuft of red fur caught on a low branch were all the clues Felix needed to begin his chase. He tread along the edge of the wooded area, eyes open for further signs. Once sighted, the beast’s trail was obvious, and it quickly receded into the darkness of the forest. He pulled the horse along, walking heavily into the underbrush. Felix would be unable to make a silent approach, but he would not need to so long as his sword was at the ready.

Felix stepped confidently, his blade swinging at foliage that would impede his horse’s path, his eyes and ears peeled for the faintest hint of unnatural sound. Despite the hour, the woods were heavily shadowed, as though marked by permanent night. Filtered, gray light echoed off wilting foliage, desolate in that way only Faerghus’s forests could be. The only sounds to be heard were the quiet crunch of his feet against the litter and the rhythmic clopping of his horse behind him.

A twig snapped somewhere to his left and he paused, breath held. He was met with silence. Felix huffed and stretched, his gaze landing on another patch of fur, and he proceeded deeper into the woods. 

He walked on for another quarter of an hour, following the beast’s trail as it led toward the heart of the forest, stopping only once to reach for his waterskin. He approached a clearing and slowed, his eyes narrowed at the small pile of ash and wood shards located at its center. The remnants of a campfire. 

A campsite this deep into the foliage was rarely a good sign. Felix dropped his grip on the horse’s reins, his left hand reaching to unsheath his other sword as he stepped carefully forward, the woman’s warning of bandits rumbling in his ears. Sensing a give in the earth below him, he jumped, dodging the obvious pit trap.

He had barely landed in the clearing when cries rang out from all sides and bandits charged messily in. 

Felix turned to his left and swung automatically, his arms rising to block his assailant. The air rang with the heavy screech of live steel. With a grunt, he kicked the man away. Another came up on Felix’s right, sword aimed at his ribs, and Felix whirled, sidestepping this bandit too before using his offhand sword to jab the man in the shoulder. He bared his teeth in a dark grin as the bandit fell away with a pained whimper. 

Behind Felix, his horse whinnied, and he could only watch as it thrashed wildly with fear before charging away into the trees, abandoning him to the incoming onslaught.

There wasn’t a second to waste. Felix brought his swords up again, moving fluidly as he danced from one enemy to the next, dodging all the while. The bandits were nothing, their axes and swords as chipped and weak as their poor skill, and he slashed and parried effortlessly, his blades drenching themselves in blood.

Finally, the hoard of attackers began to thin, the roar in his ears dulling to a murmur, and he kicked away one more bandit.

_Fssh!_

Felix turned sharply, his body moving on instinct to avoid the arrow, but he was too slow—

_Thunk! Thunk!_

A bolt embedded itself in his abdomen, heavy and deep, just missing his ribs, and another in his left thigh. Pain bloomed rapidly upward and downward, stark, blinding, overwhelming his sense, and his leg crumpled below him. It hurt like a bitch. In his periphery, Felix could spot one or two bandits staggering back to their feet. He pushed himself back to a stand, leaning heavily on his right side. Blood oozed uncomfortably down his left, filling his boot and dripping unsteadily into the earth below.

With monumental effort, Felix raised his sword, his eyes scanning for the hidden bandit with the crossbow. There was no one, and more of the downed bandits had risen, haphazardly advancing with their weapons raised. 

Felix bared his teeth. He could take these odds.

The bandits descended, all at once in their injured desperation, and Felix dove heavily out of the way. His swords came up to meet thin air as the more nimble bandits dodged, still light on their feet.

If he could _just_ —

Felix’s leg shook unsteadily, and he fell to the ground, panting.

Above him, an axe rose to strike, its edge gleaming eerily through rust.

He watched its path, his mind filled only with disgust at his own weakness. What a pointless, worthless end. An insult to Glenn’s skill, to Dimitri’s strength, to Ingrid’s fortitude.

Felix forced his eyes upward, gaze boring hate into his assailants. He swung, the aim weak. He would not die without using every last bit of fight in him. Felix jabbed again, clipping a limb, but the blade did little more than glance off the bandit’s body.

He breathed, leaning his weight onto his leg—

A loud roar sounded to his right, accompanied by a scream and the sickening crunch of a body being thrown against wood. The bandits surrounding Felix drew their weapons higher, fear trembling through their postures as they turned to where their companion had been splattered against the base of a pine. Beyond them, Felix could see a mass of red.

The mass leapt, its claws sinking into one bandit as its jaws aimed for another, and Felix’s heart jumped to his throat as he finally caught full sight of the beast.

It was small—not as small as the rumors had led him to believe, but nowhere near the hulking stature of the typical Giant Wolf. Its fur was deep, rustic red, glossy despite the beast’s wild nature. Spattered blood blended into its coat, barely darker than its pelt’s natural coloration. 

The wolf paused in front of Felix, its eyes widening momentarily. Something about it seemed almost recognizable, like a half-remembered dream distorted through glass. But that was impossible—it was nothing more than a mindless monstrosity, and Felix had come to put it out of its misery. If only he hadn’t been so overconfident and careless.

He grasped weakly at his swords, the feeling starting to seep out of his hands.

A bandit with a sword stumbled once more to his feet.

Felix coughed. “I can still—!”

A faint crack sounded as the man stepped on a branch. The wolf turned abruptly, and it bore down on the last bandit, maw gaping as teeth sank into the man’s torso.

Its task complete, the wolf turned back to Felix and its gaze met his, searching. Almost soft, with what might have been a tear trailing down the side of its face. Felix’s hands finally found their way to his swords, and he lifted them shakily as the beast approached. There was something unreadable in its expression, tentative and regretful. 

The blades were heavy. Impossibly heavy. Felix fumbled as the numbness crept further into his fingers, and his swords clattered uselessly to the ground. He watched the wolf and it looked back, too cautious, too aware. 

Why was it staring?

The ache of exhaustion settled over Felix’s shoulders, his vision swimming, and the earth careened toward him.

He could swear he heard a whimper—no, a whisper. It almost sounded like: “Felix?”

—

_“Hey, Felix?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“What’s it like, having a Major Crest?”_

_“Normal? It’s not that different from how you or Glenn or Dimitri or Ingrid have Crests. I’ve never really thought about it.”_

_The boy stared forlornly at his hands. They seemed to flicker, one moment human and small, the next clawed and heavy with fur._

_“I wish I was actually normal. I wish I’d never been born with a Crest.”_

—

Warmth and the comfort of home. An unknown, woody scent mixed with a sharp, familiar one. 

Felix sank further into his bed, his spine crackling quietly as he moved. The familiar shape of his pillow pushed back against his head, the perfect mix of support and softness, and twin aches ebbed below his ribs and in his leg, dulled by the cool static of healing magic.

Bed? Pillow?

Felix sat bolt upright, suddenly awake. Or, he tried to. He winced as his injuries complained at the movement. 

“Whoa! Whoa, there. Welcome back to the world of the living.” Glenn grinned at him, a perfunctory baring of his teeth, taut and tired. Wasn’t he supposed to be in Fhirdiad?

“Where—”

“Home. You’re home. You’re safe now.” Glenn ran his right hand through his hair. The left rested weakly against Felix’s knees. “That was quite a scare you gave us.”

“Scare?” Felix said, brow furrowing. Why would Glenn be scared? “Why aren’t you in Fhirdiad?”

“What, you think I would just stay in Fhirdiad if I heard my favorite baby brother was found bleeding out at the edge of the keep’s lands?”

“I was… what?”

“Yeah, gave the groundskeeper a fright. Said he heard some kind of noise and when he went to check it out, he found you out cold.” Glenn shook his head. “That was three days ago. I rode back here as fast as I could.”

Felix couldn’t recall anything about having been near the edge of the keep. He was still slightly groggy from sleep, but he was fairly certain he hadn’t been in Fraldarius.

Glenn continued. “The healers say it was a little touch and go for a while there. You’re lucky that one bolt managed to miss puncturing your organs.” His posture dropped, and his expression turned grim with it. “What were you thinking? What happened?”

Felix grimaced, wracking his memory. Something about red, and a beast. “I went to Elderbrook regarding a demonic beast sighting.”

“A demonic beast put two crossbow bolts in you?” 

“No, there were bandits. I think.”

There hadn’t only been bandits. Felix could almost feel warm, dense fur beneath his hands and the weight of human, intelligent eyes watching him. The image was resonant and sweet, almost nostalgic—but it was hard to concentrate and dissect it through the burning disappointment in Glenn’s gaze.

Glenn sighed. “And you ditched your battalion again.”

“I didn’t need them.”

Glenn narrowed his eyes, the set of his posture hardening. “Really? You come home half-dead and without your horse and you don’t need a battalion?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you again.” Felix turned away and crossed his arms tightly around himself. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, and what about next time? They’re supposed to watch your back.” Glenn exhaled heavily. “There almost wasn’t going to be a next time. You almost _died_.”

A shiver ran down Felix’s spine. “I’m not dead. I’ll be _fine_.”

Glenn wasn’t finished. “You have to rely on other people, or you’re going to keep getting yourself into trouble like this! You’re supposed to lead that battalion to keep them trained and safe. You can’t just ditch them because you think they’re worthless. Being a good leader is part of being a good knight.”

“I don’t need to risk their lives!” Felix hissed, and he curled further in on himself, his bandaged midriff throbbing. 

He hadn’t died. He was _here_. He’d failed, he’d been careless, but he was _fine_.

“It’s not about whether you should risk _their_ lives! It’s about _your_ life! It’s about the rest of us who are going to suffer the next time you do something stupid and reckless and you don’t come back!” Glenn pushed away from Felix’s bedside, standing to pace the room as he yelled. “You’re risking their lives by risking yourself! If you’re not there, who’s going to look out for them if things really do get serious?”

“There won’t be a next time. I’ll train harder.” He had to. There couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ be a next time. He had to protect those he cared about. He’d be a failure if he let anyone else come to harm.

“That’s not good enough. I need to know I can rely on you here, and I can’t do that if you’re going to pointlessly stake your life on pride.”

Felix looked up to glare, eyes following Glenn’s path back and forth across his rug, and he nodded accusingly at Glenn’s left arm. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Glenn halted and his eyes flickered down to his arm, weakened and useless. He shook his head. With a quiet sigh, he returned to Felix’s bedside and sat, his weight dropping slowly, no doubt to avoid jostling Felix. The pity in his gaze burned. When Glenn spoke again, his voice was soft. “I learned my lesson, then, ’Lix. I’m just trying to keep it so you don’t make my mistakes.”

Felix opened his mouth to retort that he would never make Glenn’s mistake, but his midriff sent him a particularly meaningful jolt and he closed it again. Felix paused, caught under Glenn’s gaze, and twisted his lips in a defiant frown. “It won’t happen again. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Felix, please,” said Glenn, placing a hand on Felix’s shoulder, “We’ve already lost so much to the war with the Agarthans—my arm, Dad, even King Lambert. So many good men and women. I can’t lose you too.”

“I’m not going to die,” Felix protested, more weakly than he would have liked, and he relaxed into Glenn’s consoling touch. 

He wouldn’t die. He had to live, if only because he wouldn’t be able to protect those he loved from beyond the grave. He could be strong enough. He _would_ be strong enough.

“Just… For me.”

He breathed out. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Glenn, just as there was nothing that Glenn wouldn’t do for him. “…Fine.”

“Thank you.” Glenn leaned in, his good arm sliding further to wrap Felix in a hug. Felix stiffened under the embrace, but Glenn patted his back reassuringly, and Felix raised his own arms to offer his brother a squeeze. “It’s good to be home. I missed you.”

Felix huffed. “I missed you, too.”

—

In many ways, healing was worse than getting injured. 

It was slow and tedious, with little to fill his hours. There were only so many times he could listen to the same petty squabbles between minor lords before he felt himself going mad with restlessness. He couldn’t even train. Felix quickly learned that the servants had been told to tattle on him in his attempts to sneak toward the grounds. Something ridiculous about not endangering himself with the strain. He’d barely gotten his warmups in before Glenn would descend and bodily drag him away.

How consistently overprotective. Reminding Glenn that Felix was an adult nearing his twenty-third birthday did nothing to sway his opinion.

Four weeks of rest. No training. In the meantime, Glenn would remain in Fraldarius, ostensibly to catch up on his duties as Duke, but really to mother-hen Felix into submission.

Left with nothing else, Felix whiled away his hours puzzling together the mystery of how he had returned to Fraldarius. He could not have ridden—his horse hadn’t returned, nor had its remains been found. And he could not have walked back himself, not with the injuries he’d sustained. So, someone or something had brought him back.

When he’d been found, he’d been by himself, resting on his uninjured side, arrows still protruding from his midriff and thigh. In Felix’s right hand, he’d held a clump of matted, red fur, grip tight. He’d clung to it as they’d moved him. Only Glenn’s touch had coaxed him to let go.

There could be only one source: the Red Ghost. The prey that he had gone to hunt and had, somehow, become his savior.

Felix’s memories of his trip north were foggy, edges blurred by delirium and blood loss, but he was certain that there was more to the wolf than what the stories had told. A human kindness buried in the beast’s eyes, a whisper of sadness in its wretched form, a trace of a soul in its gait. It made no sense. 

The Fraldarius library was no help. Their records recounted the history of the wolf’s sightings, yielded fantastical stories of its horror and depravity, but they were utterly opaque to its motivations or its origins. 

They started a little over thirteen years ago, the first report in Gautier. The document claimed that the monster had been barely larger than a typical wolf, its most distinguishing characteristics its brilliant red fur and its seeming unease with engaging in combat. The beast had almost been caught that time—the person who had written the report lamented that it had escaped despite being severely injured. 

There was little else of note in those papers, though the reminder of the year itself drew up a long-buried grief, bile rising in Felix’s throat. Felix shook _that_ off with a growl. Too many years had passed for him to still feel this way. He didn’t have time to wallow in reminiscence just because the year 1171 hadn’t been a good one.

The next files offered nothing new, and the trail grew colder as time wore on. Over the years, the beast had roamed south and east. Report became rumor became myth. As of nearly nine years ago, even the faintest hint of red, once spotted, would vanish into thin air. 

The Red Ghost. An uncatchable, ephemeral Demonic Beast, a smoke that floated through Faerghus’s northern lands. A beast of Gautier, and then of Fraldarius. Felix turned and turned unending pages, relentless in his search, but there was no truth to be found among the hysterical rumors and dramatic hearsay.

But the ghost would show itself again. It always did. When that happened, Felix would be prepared to find it. And kill it after it revealed its truth, if need be.

For better or for worse, a month passed, both too slowly and too quickly, locked in ceaseless, circling speculation. The distraction from his inability to train worked. Finally, after slow hours stretching to unending days, Felix was discharged and Glenn, satisfied that Felix no longer needed to be babysat, returned to Fhirdiad.

—

Winter approached, dreary and bedraggled, rain cold and hail harsh. 

The season’s first snow was downy, almost duplicitous—it lulled the keep into an easy sense of security; it painted the lie that the winter would be kind. It did not last. In a blink, frigid air from the north heralded the arrival of the first blizzard, and Fraldarius and its people were hauled, kicking and screaming, toward the restless wait for spring’s return. 

A messenger arrived in the waning days of the Red Wolf Moon, accompanied by the year’s last flickers of good weather and good cheer. He bore a request for aid; a town due east desired the eradication of a small demonic beast. There was a wolf, the plea read, one that could disappear into the wind in a haze of gossamer red.

Felix’s eyes narrowed at the note, its contents the echo he had been waiting for, and he snapped the page shut, calling for his mount to be prepared.

 _Your battalion?_

The ghost of Glenn’s voice rang in Felix’s ears, chiding and insistent, but he swept the thought away. Further snow approached and any delay would endanger them all. His blades were sufficiently sharp; there was no need to throw others in harm's way. He would exercise caution. 

And, should Felix wait too long, the beast might disappear once more, its tracks lost to the wind. He would not let his search be for naught.

The ride bore the weight of Faerghus’s impending winter, wet and wretched. The roads were heavy with mud, dyed in the sluggish slurry of budding winter. Even so, he made good time, leaving at mid-morning and arriving at dusk. He stopped as the sleepy town rose in the distance.

A farmhouse lay before him, the forest beyond austere and silent. A single window flickered with light, and the air rang only with the oncoming night.

Felix paused, Glenn’s warning against acting on his own still ringing in his ears. He had no battalion, but it was likely the inhabitants of the town would know their forest better than he. Perhaps they could be of aid. 

As quickly as the thought arose, he discarded it. Felix knew what he was looking for. He had no need to ask for help from the untrained, nor had he any desire to risk their safety. 

Without a backward glance, he dropped from his saddle and dove into the woods, tracing half-worn tracks into the shadows.

The prints were still fresh, so unlike the ones before that had been washed away and hidden, and patches of fur clung to all manner of bur and bramble. Whether it was that Felix was more aware or that the beast had been hasty, the signs of its presence were strewn all across the common path. These were the mark of a wild animal’s terror and desperation. Felix could almost pity it.

The cover of the darkness sank, oppressive, into the stillness of the trees, their deadened leaves rustling with threatening jeers. Felix shrugged it off. With a flick of his hand, he summoned an orb of Fire to hover above his palm, lighting his way and warming the air around him. It did little to penetrate into the rapidly approaching night, at best a beacon for what lay beyond the edges of his vision, but it afforded him confidence as he marched slowly forward.

Perhaps the beast would see his light and be drawn to it. Perhaps it would shy away. Felix would hunt it down regardless.

At just over a hundred paces into the depth of the woods, a flash of red glanced past Felix’s periphery.

“I know you’re there,” said Felix, clear and calm. “So you can come out and face me like you mean it.”

A murmured growl echoed through the trees.

“I will slay you one way or another, beast, as I must.” It was Felix’s duty as one of Faerghus’s protectors. The thought settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. There was no doubt the beast needed to be defeated, but so far as his records could tell, it had never sought to harm human life. It wasn’t much of a threat. Still, Felix would do what he needed to keep his people safe. “But before you die, I want to know: why did you save me when we last met?”

Another growl, closer this time, but bleeding into a whimper.

“Don’t waste my time. You cannot beat me.”

Through the trees, a form emerged, and Felix was struck with the uncanny sense that he knew this beast, that he should know it well. He had felt it the first time too. But there was nothing familiar about a monster that haunted his family’s territory.

The beast’s pelt was muted in the glow of Fire, the shade of dried blood crusted onto the wolf’s skin. It was less kempt than what Felix recalled. Patches of fur were missing, leaving scarred gouges in their wake. The wounds looked self-inflicted, like the monster had fallen to fits of madness. The beast seemed thinner, too, as though it had barely eaten in the intervening months. 

Felix almost felt bad for the monster. Almost.

“I know you can understand me, so you can just nod or shake your head to answer. Were you the one who brought me back to the keep those months ago?”

A cautious dip of the beast’s head.

“Do you know who I am?”

Another nod. Unsurprising, but unnerving all the same. Perhaps no more strange than a beast that understood human speech.

“Have you been stealing from the farm? And that town before?”

It paused, but nodded again.

“I see. In that case, fight me.” Felix had to defeat this beast. It had been a menace to his people. Or, as much a menace as such a small and civil monster could be.

It shook its head this time.

“Face me,” Felix said, insistent.

The beast lay down, its eyes downcast.

“I will cut you down, so face me!”

The beast made a sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh—broken, pitiable. It was almost sad, if Felix believed that monsters could have emotions. Felix felt his resolve slipping. There was no joy in battling an opponent who would not fight, nor was there anything to be won in killing a monster that was so strangely docile. _Why_ did it insist on behaving like so?

“I am here to stop you—to kill you.”

The monster glanced at him and shrugged a shoulder. Another oddly human action, a distant voice whispered. He shook it sharply away.

This was nonsense. Felix had wasted enough time. This was a demonic beast, a giant wolf, and nothing more. He raised his sword, ready to strike, but the look of cool relief and resignation that rippled through the monster’s expression stilled his hand.

“Is it—,” Felix swallowed. “Do you want to die?”

The wolf startled and stared balefully at Felix for a long moment before looking away again. There was something disturbing about the monster’s reactions, a reverberating kindness and empathy, and uncomfortable, aching familiarity drummed harder against Felix’s chest.

He should just strike the wolf down. It was what he came out to do. So why couldn’t he?

“I can’t—I can’t just let you go.”

The wolf—no, the monster—ignored him. Felix gripped his sword tighter, a vice to chase the emotion clawing its way out of his chest. His hand shook.

“Why can’t I kill you?” Felix hissed, his eyes stinging.

The beast looked up at him, its own eyes wet, and it let out a low whine.

Felix’s grip slipped and his sword clattered to the ground. He fell to his knees, his hand rising to grasp at the impossible burning sensation beating at his ribs. Felix’s head felt heavy, the knowledge of something he was missing spinning at the edge of his thoughts, and he gasped. His hand reached blindly for his sword. He could feel nothing but the earth shuddering below him. 

No, that was wrong. He was the one shaking.

“Fe… lix.”

Felix looked up, the rumbled sound surely nothing more than his imagination, but the beast looked at him, its face wet, its eyes almost kind. Beasts didn’t cry. They didn’t feel anything.

Except, somehow, this one did.

“Felix.”

And then, all at once, the beast’s fur fell away, leaving a naked, red-haired man sobbing in its wake. Felix fell back, numb with shock. The man’s brilliant hair and gently sloping eyes recalled a distant memory, something sentimental he couldn’t name, and Felix clenched his teeth, determined to keep the tide of emotions at bay.

“Felix,” the man said again, this time in a human voice, baritone and somber. He straightened slightly, his nudity on full display. His voice tripped and stumbled over itself as he rambled. “You’re here. You’re real. You’re okay. Thank the Goddess, you’re okay. I was… I was so scared, there was so much blood. I thought—I was so worried it might have been too late. I should have protected you better. I couldn’t live with the idea that I’d failed again. It was all I could think about these last few moons.” 

Who was this man? Why was he being so familiar with Felix? 

Felix forced his jaw to unlock. “I’m fine.”

The man smiled, small and wavering, and he reached his hand toward Felix. “We can still keep that promise.”

Promise? What promise?

Felix leaned away from the man’s touch, his brow furrowed. “Who are you?”

The man blinked, dropping his hand and his gaze, and he let out a hollow laugh. “Right. Of course.” His tone was bitter, chastising. Self-aggrandizing, in a distant, resonant way. “Of course you wouldn’t remember me. The last time we saw each other, you were what, eight?”

Eight. Had that year been important? Nine was when his world had started crumbling.

“I should have known. My bad. Sorry,” The man shook his head. Then, he laughed, humorless. “Say, uh, would you happen to have an extra coat or something? It’s kind of cold without all the fur.”

Felix shook his head. “I have… a change of clothes with my horse and a bedroll.” The man shrugged, hapless, and a shiver that shook through his arms. Felix rolled his eyes and shrugged off his coat. “Here.”

“Oh, but… you’re going to be cold.”

“Just take it before I change my mind.”

The man accepted it and draped it over his shoulders. Despite his emaciated stature, it was laughably too small, but Felix supposed it was better than nothing.

“You know my name,” Felix said, his eyes narrowing further. “How?”

Out of the corner of the eye, Felix could see the man smirk, a cruel, dry turn to his lips. “Once, I thought I was a real person. The Lance proved that Miklan was right all along—I’ve always been a monster.” His eyes bored holes into the side of Felix’s head. “You really don’t remember me, huh?”

“I have no idea who you are, let alone if I should remember you.”

“I am… No.” The man sighed. “I _was_ Sylvain José Gautier, once upon a time. Beloved second son, favored heir to the Gautier margravate, and Crest-bearing noble. The intended wielder of the Lance of Ruin.” He let out another caustic laugh and he gestured mirthlessly to himself. “Look how that turned out.”

Felix knew the Gautier family well, but the man’s claims of being Sylvain were preposterous. Sylvain had died when Felix was nine. The funeral had been a closed casket ceremony, stuffy and formal and at odds with that day’s strangely perfect weather. Margrave Gautier had petitioned King Lambert to allow him to take on a second wife not long after, insisting that he needed a new heir and that his first wife was no longer young enough to bear him one. 

“Sylvain’s dead.”

The man snorted. “That’s what my father wanted people to believe. Couldn’t very well tell everyone that the first time I held the Lance of Ruin, my Crest wasn’t strong enough to stop me from being turned into a monster.” He smiled, cracked. “Or, you know, maybe I was always the beast and the Lance just unleashed it.”

Felix watched the man, searching for a lie, but there was none, only despondent resignation. Felix curled his hand into the leg of his pants. “Are you really… No. Sylvain is _dead_.”

“I mean, I’m as good as,” the man replied, waving a hand meaninglessly, “but nope. I’m here in the flesh.”

Felix had mourned Sylvain. They all had.

The man smiled, wider this time, fond but hopeless. It wrenched at the iron burning itself into the inside of Felix’s ribcage, the image of a boy haloed in summer rising unbidden, and he sucked in a breath. The man’s—no, Sylvain’s—smile was a perfect, broken echo of Felix’s childhood, all the way down to the crooked way it tilted against the left half of Sylvain’s face.

“It’s not—,” Felix shuddered out a breath. It couldn’t be, but it was. He’d missed Sylvain, he’d cried for him, and here he was, a shattered version of himself. “You’re—you _asshole_. I’ve thought you were dead for thirteen years.”

Sylvain looked away, and his hand dropped into the dirt to scratch at its surface. “I should have died, then. It would have been better. But… my mother helped me escape. And I’ve been stuck as a demonic beast ever since.” He looked up again. “I could still be a human sometimes… but it’s been harder in the last five years. It was hard to remember myself sometimes.”

Sylvain curled his hands into Felix’s coat and pulled it tighter around his shoulders.

“Something about you made me remember. We had that promise, once.”

“I…” Felix was at a loss. 

“It’s okay if you don’t remember.” Sylvain gazed up at the trees above them. “To live together until we died together. Pretty stupid, in retrospect. What kind of promise can a monster keep?”

The wind rustled through the trees around them, a sudden, sharp reminder of Faerghus’s early winter, and Sylvain shivered. Felix could feel it too, especially without the help of his coat.

“It’s cold,” said Felix. 

“It is. I forgot how bad human skin is at keeping warm.”

“We should go,” Felix continued, and he retrieved his sword and stood.

Sylvain looked up at him, uncomprehending. “Where?”

“To Fraldarius. Where else?”

Sylvain’s gaze dropped. “You can’t just go around picking up random monsters you find in the woods.”

Felix crossed his arms. “You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do. Get up, we’re going. There’s a lot I still need to know, but we can talk when we get back to the keep. It’s too cold here.”

“I can’t,” Sylvain said, voice small, curling in further.

“Yes, you can. Do you not want to come with me?” Felix raised an eyebrow.

“No, I just…”

“Get up, we should go.”

Sylvain pushed himself slowly to his feet, as though standing was an unbearable burden. He winced as his joints crackled, resisting the upright posture. Felix flinched in sympathy. All the years without proper training could not have been kind to Sylvain’s muscles. 

“Are you sure?” Sylvain asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but are you sure you want to bring back the demonic beast you came out here to kill?”

Felix blinked at him. “You’re not a beast. You’re many things—but you’re not that.” He shook his head and let out a quiet huff. “It’s been thirteen years—you still owe me a lot of explanations. But… it’s time for you to come home. So let’s go. We can stop by the town to request some clothes. They won’t say no to me.”

Sylvain gaped for a long moment. Without warning, he bent over, laughing, tears streaming down his face, and his voice rang through the silence of the woods around them.

“It’s really you, Felix.”

Felix cracked a smile. “Welcome back, Sylvain.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter [@euphemeas](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


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